


A Study of Ignis Scientia

by mermansousuke



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Bullying, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, IgNoct, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Violence, but more of a sidenote than an actual focus of the story, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-11 07:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13519422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermansousuke/pseuds/mermansousuke
Summary: Ignis was never one to simply tell people what kind of person he is. It's up to everyone else to puzzle together the enigma that is Ignis Scientia.Five loosely connected one-shots revolving around our favorite glasses-wearing advisor.





	1. Prompto - Poison

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved Ignis and wanted to see more fics about him, so here we are. 
> 
> Each chapter is told from a different perspective, loosely connected to one another to form a bigger character study of what kind of person Ignis really is. 
> 
> Chapters are not in chronological order.
> 
> Comments are always welcome!

It's an unspoken rule that Ignis gets first dibs on the food before anyone else.

Prompto never thinks much of it. It's odd, but not _that_ odd in the grand scheme of things. Gladio and Noctis certainly don’t seem to mind, so Prompto goes along with it and chalks it up to weird royalty etiquette that he will never understand.

Nothing dramatic ever happens from these ‘tasting’. Sometimes, Ignis will scribble something down in his little notebook, inspired. Other times, his nose will scrunch up in distaste and he’ll mutter about ‘too much salt’ or something along those lines.

This time is different.

“Not enough garlic to your taste, Iggy?” Prompto asks, teasing. Ignis continues to chew slowly, expression giving nothing away. He’s taking longer than usual, and Prompto would be lying if he said he wasn’t impatient to go to town on those peanut skewers. “Too much garlic? _Come on,_ Iggy! I’m dyin’ here.”

Then, Prompto sees something he’d never thought he’d witness with his own two eyes: Ignis delicately reaching for a napkin and _spitting the food back up._ Prompto is too shocked to be disgusted. Leave it to proper Ignis to make something as gross as spitting into a napkin look delicate and refined.

“Specs?” Noct says, blue eyes wide. Him and Gladio are staring at Ignis with varying degrees of disbelief.

Ignis wads up the used napkin, places it next to the tray of skewers, and stands up in one smooth movement.

“I think,” Ignis says quietly, voice thin but steady, “that we best take our leave for the evening. Gladio, if you would, please.”

Gladio stands and tosses down some gil on the table; he hauls Noctis up on his feet and grabs the back of Prompto’s shirt when he doesn’t scramble up fast enough. “Time of get a move on, ladies,” he says.

Ignis leads the way back to their hotel room, striding with enough purpose that the crowd subtly makes way for them. Gladio is oddly quiet and Noctis’s expression is pinched and drawn, and Prompto still has no idea what’s going on.

“Uh, guys? I don’t think I got the memo. What’s happening?” Prompto is struggling to keep pace, tripping over his own feet in his haste. “Is this some sort of drill that I forgot about?”

Surprisingly, it’s Ignis who answers, “Not a drill. Merely a precaution, if you must know.”

Gladio and Noct’s incredulous glance with one another doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, and Ignis's answer only adds about a hundred more questions to Prompto's considerable arsenal, but everyone's expression has Prompto on edge so he keeps his mouth shut and follows silently.

At one point, Ignis sways dangerously on his feet. Prompto only narrowly manages to grab his arm before the advisor careens straight into a wall. When Ignis only nods and murmurs, “Apologies”, Prompto knows something is really, really wrong.

They make it to their room with no other incident. Once the door closes behind Prompto, Ignis stumbles, clutching onto the couch in a white-knuckled grip. He’s shivering despite it being hotter than Ifrit’s balls, and even from where Prompto stands, he can see a fine sheen of sweat along the advisor’s face.

He looks _bad_.

“ _Shit_ , Iggy.” Gladio reacts first, steering Ignis to sit down on the couch rather than leaning against it. He goes without protest, lips pressed into a tight line. “Did you swallow any of it?” Gladio shakes Ignis roughly when he doesn’t answer immediately. “Iggy, _answer me._ Did you swallow any of it?”

“Some,” Ignis admits after a length. ‘Some, _what?’_ , Prompto thinks wildly. “I should have known. The coloring, it was off. I should have --”

“Enough talking,” Gladio says. He gestures wildly toward Prompto and Noctis. Luckily, Noctis seems to understand what the violent hand waving means because he rushes over with a trash bin a moment later and sets it in front of Ignis clumsily, the plastic bin rocking precariously for a moment before stilling. Ignis sends him a thin smile, the effect lost when he coughs, then _gags_ , clapping a hand over his mouth swiftly. Gladio grabs his wrist and yanks it away, “You need to let it happen.”

“I know,” Ignis groans, head hanging as his free hand clutches his stomach. He’s pale, and his breaths are coming out in short gasps.

Prompto wants to look away, but he can’t when his friend is in such obvious pain. Chancing a glance at the prince doesn't help. Noctis is similarly helpless. He keeps making jerky, aborted movements, simultaneously wanting to go to Ignis but also wanting to stay out of the way. Prompto can relate. He goes to stand next to Noctis, hoping the small point of contact between their shoulders will be enough.

It feels like an eternity, but it must have only been a minute, two at most.

Ignis dry heaves into the trash bin, nothing coming up but copious amounts of saliva and little bit of bile. He spits, and his teeth chatter as he tells Gladio, “It’s not working.”

“Try again,” Gladio says, rough tone betrayed by the soothing hand rubbing up and down Ignis’s back. “I’ll stick my own goddamned fingers down your throat if I have to.”

Maybe that is incentive enough because Ignis suddenly hunches over and retches so violently that Prompto finally looks away. The peeling blue paint in the corner is a poor distraction, but Prompto focuses on it like his life depends on it. He feels more than sees Noctis shaking next to him, so he wraps an arm around his friend and pulls him close.

The minutes stretch on until only Ignis’s harsh breaths fill the air, Gladio murmuring quiet encouragements next to him.

The whole ordeal leaves Ignis exhausted. Prompto rushes to grab Ignis some water and mouthwash while Noctis returns with pillows and a thin blanket; Gladio gets rid of the trash bin and brings back a fresh, new one. Ignis accepts all of it with good grace, smiling when Prompto fumbles to pour the mouthwash for him.

“Thank you,” he tells them all, pulling the blanket around himself before setting his glasses on the coffee table. “I apologize for not being more vigilant. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Seriously, Specs?” Noctis says. He crouches down next to his advisor, trying to hide his distress with a wane grin. Ignis reaches over and brushes back some of Noctis’s hair. It's such an intimate, familiar gesture that Prompto immediately feels like he’s intruding. “You could have _died_. I don’t think you can be more vigilant than that.”

“I must,” Ignis says, fingers trailing softly along Noctis’s hair until he lightly grasps a strand between his thumb and forefinger, gentle. “My place is by your side, your Highness. Always.”

Noctis chuckles, leaning into the hand playing with his hair until it caresses his cheek tenderly. The prince answers by turning and placing an easy kiss on the inside of Ignis’s wrist, his own pale hand coming to rest alongside Ignis’s slender one.

For one, blindingly selfish moment, Prompto wishes someone would look at him the way the two of his friends look at each other -- fully, wholly, completely. Adoration absolute and written in every line of their expression. 'Maybe one day', Prompto thinks wistfully.

“Alright, I think it’s time we let Iggy get some rest.” Gladio says finally, voice loud in the hushed quiet of their hotel room. Prompto most definitely does not jump ten feet in the air, because that would be impossible. Super impossible. “Why don’t you come with me to grab some potions, your Highness? We’re running low.”

Noctis blows out an impatient breath, but lets go of Ignis’s hand reluctantly. Ignis’s hand hovers in the space between them before sinking back into the cushions, fingers tangling in the scratchy cotton blanket.

“I’ll stay,” Prompto hears himself say. “Can’t leave poor, sick Iggy by himself! Who knows what kind of trouble he’ll get into.”

“Heaps of trouble, surely,” Ignis intones dryly from the couch, but he doesn’t protest the extra company.

Satisfied, Gladio grabs Noctis by the nape of his neck and leads him away, “Try not to burn anything while we’re gone.”

“Aye, aye!”

“Duly noted.”

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving only Ignis and Prompto in the silence of their hotel room. Prompto peeks around the couch only to find Ignis staring up at him blearily. Prompto squeaks, ducking behind the armrest, ears hot at the tips.

“Yes, Prompto?” Ignis asks tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his fingers. He looks completely exhausted, which, yeah, that makes sense. Prompto would be tired too if he’d spent the better part of an hour trying to empty the contents of his stomach.

“I -- uh, nothing?” Prompto says just as he realizes that hiding behind the couch probably makes him look ridiculous and childish. He straightens only to fidget with the fabric of the couch. “Are you, uhm, thirsty? Wait, I already brought you water. Sorry. Are you hungry? I can make a pretty mean sandwich when I put my mind to it.”

That earns him a weak smile, “No, thank you. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think I can quite handle food at the moment.

“Yeah, yeah, _duh_. I’m dumb. Sorry, Iggy.”

“No need to apologize,” Ignis says and closes his eyes. Prompto watches him for awhile, fingers still twisting a loose thread in the couch when Ignis opens his eyes again, clearly puzzled. “Was there something else you needed, Prompto?”

“No, no.” Prompto twirls the thread tight around his finger, the pain grounding him. “Well, it’s just -- what happened back there? You were fine, and then you weren’t, and then you were puking your guts out in our room and I guess I’m really confused. Everything happened so fast.”

Ignis nods, “Poison.”

All of the air leaves Prompto’s lungs in one sharp exhale, body going cold and numb, “P-poison? Like, poison-poison?”

“Assuming you’re alluding to lethal poison that is meant to kill, then yes, ‘poison-poison’.” He knows Ignis is repeating Prompto’s own terminology to lighten the mood, but it only serves to make Prompto feel even worse, which is quite a feat considering Ignis is the one who almost _died_ today.

“How -- how are you so calm about this?” Prompto asks, voice betraying how totally  _not_ calm he is about this whole mess. He yanks the thread out with one sharp pull. The string is still wrapped tightly around his forefinger, turning it an ugly purple-white color but Prompto _doesn’t care_ because Ignis almost _died_. “There was no warning, and you just -- you threw it away and then we came back, but you almost fainted! Holy shit. You could have died and, and --” Prompto stops, knowing he's not making sense even as something finally clicks into place. “Have you … have you been sampling our food for poison this entire time?”

“Of course I have,” Ignis says, like the very idea of not poisoning himself is completely appalling, because Prompto is so very obviously in the wrong here. Obviously.

“It is my sworn duty to protect the Crown Prince. If that duty happens to benefit the rest of the group as well, then so be it.” Ignis reads something on Prompto’s face because his expression smooths over a second later, voice going soft. “You needn’t worry yourself, Prompto. I’ve trained my body to withstand the most lethal of poisons since a very young age; you’ll be hard-pressed to find a poison that will kill me swiftly.”

“That really doesn’t make me feel better.” Prompto rubs the wetness from his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. They’re going to be so swollen and red tomorrow. “How can you be so, so careless about your own life like that? Don’t you know how much Noct needs you? How much we all need you?”

“Prompto…” Ignis struggles to sit up and wow, does that make Prompto feel like the biggest jerk in the world. Here Ignis is, trying to follow Gladiolus’s advice and _rest_ and Prompto is standing here spouting _feelings_ at him. The big guy is gonna be so pissed if he finds out.

“Prompto. Please understand, it was never my intention to cause you all so much distress. I don’t risk my life due to not caring, nor do I do it out of obligation. I do it because you all are all I have left and if anything were to happen--” Ignis stops, fist clenching into the ratty blanket. He sucks in a breath, then lets it out slow, “If anything were to happen to any of you, I would never forgive myself.”

“Ignis…” Prompto whispers, stricken. He clambers around the couch so he’s kneeling beside the advisor, clutching the Ignis's wrist desperately, willing him to understand through touch alone. Ignis’s skin is clammy and warm, but Prompto doesn’t pull away. “If anything were to happen to you, none of us would be able to forgive ourselves. You understand that, right?” He shakes Ignis’s wrist and Ignis finally looks up, green eyes vulnerable and clouded, so open without his glasses. “I swore an oath, remember? I have as much of a right to protect Noct as you do. Gladio, too. Let us help you, okay? You don’t have to shoulder everything yourself. We’ll protect each other.”

They don’t say anything for a long time. Prompto holding Ignis’s wrist and Ignis letting him. Prompto startles when Ignis unwinds the thread on Prompto’s finger with his free hand, nimble and efficient like he is with every aspect of his life.

“Thank you,” Ignis says at last and Prompto just squeezes his wrist.

It becomes an unspoken rule after that to let Prompto take pictures of the food before eating it. Later, he’ll print out a copy and give it to Ignis; Ignis will then paste it into his notebook and keep it as a reference for what the meal _should_ look like before consumption.

There are no more successful poisoning attempts after that.


	2. Gladio - Insurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis has a few tricks up his sleeves, and his custom-fit gloves have dangerous implications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing about Ignis's gloves, yet this chapter focuses on everything but his gloves. They make a little cameo at the end.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Gladio hears that Ignis Scientia, future advisor to the future King of Lucis himself, is going to be attending training sessions with Gladio and his group, he can’t say he’s exactly thrilled.

He _likes_ Ignis, okay? He’s a good guy. Gladio trusts him wholeheartedly and would take a bullet for him in a heartbeat. But the guy’s got _walls_ built up, and Gladio doesn’t know if that will mesh well with Crownsguard training.

Ignis doesn’t seem like the type who would willingly get his hands dirty for the sake of keeping the peace. In fact, Gladio doesn’t think he’s out of place thinking that Ignis would be the type to blackmail others into getting their hands dirty in his place.

So, yeah, Gladio’s got some reservations.

“Is Ignis training with you guys today?” Iris asks over breakfast and Gladio raises an eyebrow, surprised.

“Yeah. He is. How’d you hear about that?” He serves himself another helping of eggs before giving the remains to Iris. The girl had an unhealthy love of unscrambled eggs. She chirps a quick “thanks” before digging in with gusto.

“He told me. Duh,” Iris says between bites, like the answer is suppose to be obvious to Gladio. Maybe it should have been. The two hang out often and seem to get along like two peas in a pod. It’d make sense he’d told her. “He seemed really excited!”

“Did he?” Gladio asks, suddenly feeling guilty for the uncharitable thoughts he’d been harboring since the news. “Crownsguard training is no joke.”

Iris rolls her eyes, and points a fork at him, accusing, “Give him a chance, Gladdy! He knows what he’s agreed to. And I think you’ll be surprised -- he’s tougher than you think.”

“Yeah, okay.” Gladio finishes the rest of breakfast quickly, eager to get the day started. When he stands, Iris tosses him a cheeky smile and Gladio is instantly suspicious. “What?”

“Nothing,” she sing-songs, scooping up Gladio’s empty plate and practically shoves him out the door. “Just don’t be surprised when he kicks everyone’s butt!” She really does shove him out the door this time, waving. “Bye, Gladdy!”

The door slams in his face. Gladio wonders why dread curls in his gut.

* * *

Ignis is already going through some basic stretches when Gladio arrives to the training grounds.

“Yo,” Gladio says, joining him. Ignis has perfect form, but Gladio ultimately chalks it up to studying. Anyone can pick up a guidebook and follow instructions. “Heard you’ll be training with us from now on.”

“You’ve heard correctly.” Ignis twists and smoothly transitions into another set designed to stretch the calves. His fingers brush the floor and Gladio strongly suspects that Ignis is more than capable of placing his palms flat onto the floor, but is choosing not to for propriety's sake.

“Iris says you’re excited,” Gladio says. More trainees are trickling in and Gladio is desperate to get in a few words before he’s dragged off to help the others with their warm-ups. “Can’t imagine why. You don’t seem like you’d enjoy this kind of stuff.”

“Indeed, if I had my way, I would be sitting in a council meeting right about now,” Ignis agrees amiably. “It has been brought to my attention, however, that I need to expand my training outside of council activities. Regardless, I imagine this will be an excellent learning experience. I _do_ try to keep an open mind.” His gaze flicks over Gladio’s shoulder before returning back to the floor. “It seems your teammates are calling for you.”

“They can wait,” Gladio says impatiently and turns his full attention to the future advisor. “So you’re tellin’ me that someone is forcing you to go through Crowsnguard training? Last I checked, advisors don’t need that kind of training to be on the council.”

“Crownsguard training is not required for council advisors, no. This is merely an opportunity to ‘broaden my horizons’, so to speak.” Ignis pauses and fixes Gladio with an intense look. “If I may ask: is there a reason you are suddenly so interested in my formal training?” A fleeting, teasing smile. “Were you hoping to be an advisor to the future King of Lucis? If you are, I must insist that you reconsider.”

That startles a laugh out of Gladio, “I ain’t tryin’ to steal your job, Iggy.”

“If you insist,” Ignis says lightly. “But if you change your mind, know that I support your endeavors wholeheartedly. You may even prove to be an exceptional rival.”

“You don’t gotta flatter me.” Gladio rolls his eyes. “You and I both know I would be a shit advisor. I’ll leave the schmoozing to you.”

Ignis hums and straightens, “You sell yourself short. You never answered my question.”

Damn.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can go through with the training,” Gladio says, rubbing the back of his neck self consciously. “It’s just that...”

“You don’t think I can go through with the training,” Ignis finishes for him. Gladio shrugs.

“Crownsguard training is all about reacting. Instinct. Sure, you gotta have the knowledge of your past training to guide you, but it’s intense. You don’t get _time_ to think. You just have to _do_.” Gladio tries to explain, because he _knows_ Ignis. The guy is practically the textbook definition of ‘overthinking’. “Look, I ain’t trying to tell you not to go through with the training. You got your mind set on it and I know nothing I say will stop you. I just want you to know what you’re getting into.”

He expects Ignis to be offended. He expects him to get mad, or at least irritated that Gladio has such little faith in his fighting abilities.

Instead, he smirks, like he’s got some secret that Gladio isn’t privy to. It’s there and gone in an instant and Gladio half-thinks he imagined it.

“Your concern is appreciated, but misplaced,” Ignis says after a moment. A whistle sounds in the distance, and Gladio knows chit-chat time is over. “Come now. We musn’t keep the instructor waiting.”

Gladio follows numbly. He hopes he won’t have to explain to a certain prince why his advisor is beaten black and blue and bloody later today.

* * *

It’s hard to miss the whispers during practice.

“Who’s the fresh meat?” One of them asks, not bothering to keep his voice down. Ignis is standing near the front of the line with the other fresh-faced recruits. Gladio, in turn, is lined up near the back with the more senior members.

Ignis makes no indication that he can hear the comments. Gladio isn’t fooled.

“Isn’t he a council member?” Someone else whispers to Gladio’s right. “Why is he in the advanced division? He’s going to get his ass kicked.”

“Beats me,” his companion replies. “Saw Amicitia talkin’ with him earlier. Maybe he’s a noble?”

Gladio graciously pretends not to notice when the two turn to ogle at him. Maybe tact is something they need to start incorporating into their daily drills.

“I hope I get paired with him,” a cocky cadet says a few lines up, and Gladio bristles at his flippant tone. If Gladio can hear him, it means that Ignis can too. “I hear some important people are going to be attending today. Need to show them I’m Crownsguard material, know what I mean?”

Gladio has a few choice words about that. A loud whistle cuts through the chatter and he’s forced to let it go.

They’re separated into groups, a good mix between the newer recruits with the more senior members. Gladio isn’t surprised when he and Ignis are thrown into the same group. He claps a companionable hand on Ignis’s shoulder and is rewarded with a fleeting smile.

“Listen up, boys,” their team leader says without preamble, her long hair and delicate features in opposition with her no-nonsense tone. “Name’s Estrella, but ya’ll can call me Essie for short. I don’t really care. What I do care about is seeing you boys work hard. I’m sure ya’ll heard, but we got some special guests today. Heard the prince himself may even come.” Gladio glances at Ignis, incredulous, but Ignis only looks resigned, like he knew this was bound to happen. “Now, that being said, give it your best shot today, but don’t go trying to show off. You’ll only hurt yourself and your pride.”

Also unsurprisingly, Gladio and Ignis are paired together. The group spreads out, but remain in their designated sections, never straying too far. Him and Ignis pick a discreet corner in the yard, away from prying eyes.

“So I’m supposed to show you some pointers since I’m your senior,” Gladio says, sheepish. “Uh, why don’t we start with what you do know. Do you know the proper way to make a fist?”

“I do, in fact, know how to make a fist,” Ignis says, tone amused. He demonstrates by holding his fist out, thumb neatly tucked over his fingers. “I also know how to throw a proper punch, if that was your next question.”

Gladio guffaws, “Okay, smartass. How about you tell me what you want to learn from me and we’ll go from there.”

A couple forms later and Gladio has to admit he’s impressed.  
  
Ignis clearly has had some sort of formal training, but the where, why, how, and when is lost to Gladio. The advisor’s movements are swift and precise, quick to redirect but never one to strike first. He’s a cautious fighter, Gladio notes, but not a bad one.

Gladio focuses on the few weaknesses he does see: Ignis tends to favor his left hand, his movements become stilted when faced with a full-on frontal attack, and he doesn’t stand his ground, preferring to dodge and evade when given the chance.

As far as fresh recruits go, Ignis is far from Gladio’s worst student.

When the hour is up, they are forced to switch partners and Gladio is stuck teaching some poor sap how to tuck and roll after falling on his face one too many times.

Time passes slowly after that.

Their team leader calls for a break and Gladio gratefully reaches for his water bottle and towel. He’s in the middle of taking a long draw when he notices Ignis pacing around the bench, perplexed.

“What’s up Iggy?” Gladio asks as he wipes his face. It’s so damn hot today. “Lose somethin’?”

“I seem to have misplaced a few of my items,” Ignis says at last, unamused. His arms are crossed, forefinger tapping a deliberate staccato. “Understand that I use the term ‘misplaced’ loosely.”

He shoots Gladio a meaningful look, sharp green eyes flicking momentarily to another group roughhousing a few yards away. They’re some of the newer recruits, having started a week before Ignis himself. Gladio puts together the pieces pretty damn quickly.

“I’ll handle it,” Gladio says.

He’s three steps in before a hand closed around his arm, tight and unyielding.

“You will do no such thing.” Ignis pulls him back and maneuvers himself in front, effectively blocking his view. “They’re young, Gladio, eager to prove themselves and have little resources to do so. I wouldn’t waste your time.”

Gladio shakes off his arm but doesn’t make a move toward the group again, “So, what? You gonna let them treat you like that? We don’t need people like that in the Crownsguard.”

“If they’re meant to be in service to the King and the people, they’ll shape up,” Ignis says as he deftly plucks Gladio’s water bottle from his hands. He takes a few measured sips before handing it back. “Have some faith in your future comrades.”

“We’ll see,” Gladio grumbles, snatching the bottle back.

* * *

The instructor calls for a spar towards the end of training.

It’s tradition to have the newer recruits practice a few moves on each other with the more senior members watching to critique their form; it’s also a great way for the new recruits to practice what they’ve learned that day and to further hone their skills.

Gladio sits with the other senior members in a semi-circle, watching the recruits scramble to form a neat line. One of Gladio’s teammates jostle him to point out a lanky, beanpole of a recruit trying desperately to stay out of the way, but only manages to trip up the others in their haste to organize a line. Gladio chuckles. To think they used to be like that too, once upon a time.

Their instructor takes pity on them because he blows his whistle and tells them to _stay where they are, damnit._ And to _quit running around like a chocobo with its head cut off._

Ignis, to his credit, is the only one standing off to the side, content to let the chaos play out around him. His hands are behind his back in a standard parade rest, gaze off somewhere behind Gladio.

Curious, Gladio turns and is completely unsurprised to see Noctis sitting with a few noblemen on the benches surrounding the training grounds. Noctis sees him and lifts his hand in a lazy wave. He looks bored and Gladio wonders why he’s even here.

Gladio raises a hand in greeting before turning back, the instructor finally having corralled the recruits into an acceptable formation.

“Listen up, rookies! Rules are simple: if you step outta the designated lines, you’re out. If you cause malicious bodily injury to your fellow comrade, you’re out. And if you tap three times to give up, you’re out. You each get five minutes. Any questions?” The recruits shake their heads and there’s a few scattered _no, sir_ ’s. The instructor nods, “When I call your name, get your ass up here.”

The first sparring match is an absolute disaster.

Both the recruits are eager to show-off in front of the prince and end up looking like complete idiots. Neither of them had been in Gladio’s original group so he isn’t too invested. When the match ends, he tells the tall one to work on his footwork and the shorter one to stop overextending his arm when he punches.

They both slink back to the line, egos bruised and thoroughly mortified at embarrassing themselves in front of their future king. Good. Maybe that’ll teach them to think less with their dicks and more with their brains.

“Hey, you know that new kid, right?” One of Gladio’s teammates says, nodding to Ignis. “Think he’ll win his match? With the exception of those two blubbering idiots, the others ain’t half bad. Reckon they’ll put up a good fight.”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, distracted. The next two are up and one of them is the kid that Gladio had to teach how to tuck and roll. He’s nervous but determined and Gladio is secretly rooting for him. “Known him since we were kids. If he’s got his mind set on somethin’, there’s no talking him out of it. If he wants to win, he’ll win.”

His teammate whistles lowly, “Man, you got a lot of faith in this guy. Hope he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of the prince.”

Gladio frowns just as the recruit he’d taught tucked and rolled behind his opponent, landing a swift kick to his lower back that sends his opponent sprawling past the white line painted in the grass.

Now that he thinks about it, Ignis hadn’t seem surprised when their team leader had announced Noctis would be attending the training session today. Iris’s comment from earlier in the morning flits through Gladio’s mind and suddenly, Gladio is _very_ interested in watching Ignis’s upcoming match.

And, like the gods themselves had been listening, their instructor barks out a curt, “Scientia! Fastus! You two are up.”

Ignis steps forward. Another recruit with shaggy black hair steps forward too, a cocky grin fixed firmly in place. Gladio realizes it’s the same recruit who had been in the group that had stolen Ignis’s things. From the look on Ignis’s face, he must have realized it as well.

The recruit, Fastus, grins at Ignis, smug. His fighting stance is solid, Gladio notices with dismay -- feet grounded and fists up without leaving big openings. Gladio would have been impressed if the guy wasn’t such a slimy little shit.

“Start!” The instructor blows the whistle and Fastus immediately leaps into action.

He throws quick-fire jabs and punches, not letting up even when he manages to clip Ignis in the jaw. Gladio recognizes the tactic because it’s one he uses on occasion -- rush the opponent so they don’t have time to think. If the opponent is untrained, then their instincts to defend and escape will make them sloppy and wide open for attacks. 

Despite the biff to his face, however, Ignis’s defense remains steadfast, dodging and blocking Fastus’s punches as they come. Gladio had criticized Ignis for his flighty footwork, but he has to admit that in this scenario, it’s probably a good thing Ignis doesn’t stand his ground.

“Shit, look at ‘em go,” his teammate says, sitting up straighter. “That Scientia kid is _fast_.”

The words scarcely leave his mouth when Ignis, having caught on to the ploy, neatly sidesteps one of Fastus’s overzealous punches to kick his legs out from under him and simultaneously elbow him in the throat.

Fastus falls _hard_ , head cracking against the ground. Gladio can almost physically see the air leave the boy’s lungs as his breath is knocked out.

Ignis doesn’t hesitate to take the opening.

He straddles Fastus’s chest, knees pushing down on the other’s biceps to stop Fastus from getting his arms up. Ignis forces Fastus’s head down with one hand while the other circles around his neck with enough pressure to let his opponent know what it implies.

No one moves, both Ignis and Fastus breathing hard. The seconds crawl by; Fastus refusing to tap out and Ignis perfectly content to keep Fastus pinned down. The sun is high in the sky and a bead of sweat trickle down Ignis’s neck.

“Yield, Fastus,” Ignis says quietly, voice carried by the wind. “Save your pride for another day.”

Fastus bucks his hips, attempting to dislodge him. Ignis doesn’t budge. His grip around Fastus’s neck tightens marginally.

“Yield,” Ignis says again.

Finally, after what must be the longest minute of useless struggling Gladio has ever seen, Fastus taps the ground three times in quick succession. Ignis promptly releases him. Fastus lets out a couple of wheezing coughs as Ignis walks away, shaking his hands out as he does so.

Ignis has his back turned so he doesn’t see Fastus get up, expression thunderous. Gladio does though, as does Noctis.

“Ignis!” Noctis shouts, and Ignis’s head snaps up. “ _Behind you_!”

Time slows.

Ignis turns, eyes wide as a cocked fist flies towards him. Gladio, who had known what was going to happen before Fastus even got up, is already there. He intercepts the fist and twists his arm so forcefully Fastus cries out, knees buckling slightly.

“Don’t even think about it,” Gladio growls. He doesn’t let up even when Fastus whimpers pathetically.

“Please! I’m sorry. I -- I don’t know why I did that. I didn’t mean it! I swear!” Fastus blubbers and Gladio can’t believe he’s managed to get this far in the program.

“Have some goddamn dignity,” Gladio says. He sees the instructor running towards them across the field and lets go of the poor sod’s wrist; he remains standing protectively in front of Ignis in case Fastus has any more bright ideas. “Where’s your honor? Your integrity? Attacking an unarmed, unaware comrade like that -- fucking disgusting.”

Their instructor is livid when he arrives on the scene, face a splotchy dark red almost purple color. He escorts Fastus away and dismisses class early. Noctis jogs over not long after, grimacing and having to limp-walk halfway.

“Specs! You okay? That was nuts.” Noctis pants as he massages his bad leg. Gladio makes a mental note to add more stretches to their training regime. “Can’t believe he attacked you when your back was turned. Seriously uncool.”

“Yes. He does seem to be quite the sore loser; however,” Ignis rounds on Gladio then, annoyance written into every line of his posture. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. You needn’t come to my rescue, Gladio.”

Gladio’s eyebrows shoot up, “Hey, you’re mad at _me_ for sticking up for you? You can’t be serious.”

“Deathly serious, I’m afraid,” Ignis tells him stiffly as Noctis glances between them apprehensively.

“So, what, next time you _want_ me to let some guy knock your head to next Tuesday? Because I’ll be honest, Iggy, I don’t know if I can sit by and do that. Not when someone threatens my friends.”

“And, as I have already stated, I am more than capable of handling myself. The situation was under control.” Ignis purses his lips, mulling over his next words carefully. “It would be unfortunate if one of us were to get hurt in the rush of things. It may be best to let whatever it is run its course.”

“What I’m getting out of this conversation is that if someone attacks you, to let them beat you to a bloody pulp?” Gladio can’t believe these words are actually coming out of his mouth. Ignis is nodding though, so Gladio accepts the situation for what it is. He doesn’t have the energy to argue. “Alright, fine. You win. Next time someone wants to beat the crap out of you, I’ll let it happen. Good?”

“Yes. Thank you for understanding, Gladio.” Ignis says, relieved. Gladio is tempted to tell him that he very much doesn’t understand, but he’s grumpy, sweaty, and exhausted so he keeps his mouth shut. “And I hope you can forgive me for my less than courteous attitude. It was wrong of me to snap at you when you were only looking out for my well being.”

“Sure. No problem.” He slaps Ignis’s shoulder, hoping it’ll convey all is forgiven. Noctis just looks satisfied that his two friends aren’t about to go at each other’s throats. “How ‘bout I treat you to some dinner? I know a place.”

* * *

“Gladio, this is madness.”

“Yeah, Gladio. What gives?” Noctis asks. “I thought you said we were going to grab a bite.”

Gladio rounds on them, “Okay. First of all, it was only supposed to be me and Ignis getting dinner, _Your Highness_. Second, yeah, I know it’s a little crazy down here, but I promise it’ll be worth it. This place has the best seafood in the city.”

Ignis is looking decidedly more unimpressed by the minute; his white button-up and cardigan stands out in the crowd of drunken men in stained t-shirts and worn out jeans. Noctis fares a little better in his v-neck and baseball cap, but it’s painfully obvious that Ignis is out of his element here.

“Look,” Gladio relents. “We don’t gotta stay. I’ll go in, grab the food, and we can take it back to the Citadel. Then, you can continue to be pissed at me while chowing down on the best crab legs you’ve ever had. Deal?”

Some of the harsh lines on Ignis’s face smooth out, but his frown remains, “I’m not angry at you, but I cannot deny the idea of eating in the safe comforts of the Citadel is much more appealing than staying...here.”

It’s really impressive how much disdain Ignis is able to inject into that one word. Gladio takes the hint and speeds up their pace, cutting across alleys and back roads. He doesn’t comment when Noctis complains about his feet hurting; somehow, he doesn’t think snapping at Noctis will win him any favors with the advisor right now.

“Okay, there it is,” Gladio says, relieved when the garish sign comes into view. The neon orange light flickers as they get closer, part of the logo half obscured in the shadows. “I’ll order something for everyone and we’ll call a cab to get back.”

Noctis and Ignis nod. Gladio tries to order quickly but there’s no rushing the time it takes to cook their food. Noctis plays a game on his phone while Ignis peers at a peeling promotional poster with a kind of pained determination.

It’s only because Gladio is watching them that he notices when Noctis puts his phone away to come stand next to Ignis, their fingers brushing together. He knows he’s not imagining the red that creeps up along the advisor’s face and his ears. And he’s definitely not imagining how he doesn’t move away from their shared closeness despite there being ample room to do so.

Noctis points something out on the poster and Ignis laughs under his breath, eyes soft. They bend their heads together, whispering in hushed tones, but the tender expression never leaves Ignis’s face.

Huh. Gladio is learning so much about Ignis today.

“Your order, sir.” A teenager hands Gladio a plastic bag with three different boxes, expression bored. “Have a nice day. Please let us know if you,” the employee sighs, “need any _fin_ at all. We are _moray_ than happy to fulfill your seafood needs.”

Behind Gladio, Ignis gives a soft, delighted gasp but Noctis is there to shut him down with a strained whisper of, “Ignis, _no.”_

“Thanks,” Gladio says rather lamely and Noctis has to practically drag Ignis away from the underpaid employee. He’s got his black notebook out, too.

“That,” Ignis says as they exit the dilapidated restaurant, “was positively refreshing. I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with such charming places, Gladio.”

“You only liked them for their stupid puns,” Noctis says, accusing. Then he points out, ”You haven’t even tried their food yet.”

”Let’s just call a cab and go eat our food,” Gladio says tiredly.

He's busy trying to flag down a taxi that he doesn’t notice the man right away. Gladio only realizes there’s someone making their way towards them when Ignis steps in front of Noctis and very pointedly asks, “Can I help you?”

“No. You can’t,” the man says, words slurring as he stumbles closer. He takes a swig of his beer before pointing to Noctis, finger unsteady. “But I do got a bone to with _you_.”

“Me?” Noctis says, pointing to himself. Gladio shifts so he’s standing next to Ignis, obscuring more of Noctis from view.

The man nods and tries to step even closer, either so intent on talking to Noctis that he doesn’t register Gladio and Ignis, or he’s purposely ignoring them. Gladio is inclined to think it’s the latter.

“You’re gonna need to back it up, pal,” Gladio tells the man, extending an arm to stop him from getting any closer. “We’re not here to fight. We were just leaving.”

“Fight? I ain’t -- _hic._ I ain’t never said anythin’ about fightin’. I says that I wanted to talk s’all,” the man says; this close, Gladio can smell the sour booze on his breath.

He keeps his face stony when he says, “Fighting, talking, dancing -- whatever it is, I don’t care. You need to turn around and walk away.”

The drunk sways on his feet, seemingly baffled as to why Gladio is keeping him from speaking with Noctis. He’s older, maybe mid-fifties, wearing casual civs that indicate he’s a white-collared worker. Drunk or not, Gladio doesn’t make a habit of picking fights with civilians.

“Look,” Gladio tries again, taking it as a good sign when the man blinks blearily back at him. “If you walk away now, we’ll forget this happened. Go back home and get some rest.”

Somehow, talking the man down has the opposite effect. The man’s pupils contract to tiny, little slits and his lips pull back in a wordless snarl. He raises his fist, bottle in hand.

Gladio has a split second to decide if he’s going to defend himself and possibly hurt the man, a civilian, or if he is going to let it happen.

The bottle shatters against his temple followed by white hot pain.

He almost lurches forward, hand already coming up to cradle the left side of his face when he remembers himself. _Noctis_. Gladio straightens, left eye shut as blood, warm and wet trickles down his face. His hand is stained red. Gladio ignores it.

He’s about to give the drunk one more chance when a series of events rapidly unfolds in front of him.

Ignis nimbly steps behind the man and knocks his legs out from under him. The man falls heavily to his knees. Deft fingers find the pressure points on his wrist and _press_ until the man drops the broken bottle from numb fingers with a startled cry. Ignis wastes no time in twisting one arm behind the man’s head, pulling the other arm, extended straight, backwards before planting a foot firmly at the man’s mid back and _pushes_.

The man screams as Ignis breaks his arm; his screams don’t mask the repulsive snap as it fractures, a jut of bone only barely visible through the sleeve of his stained shirt. He’s just starting to struggle when Ignis tugs on his other arm still twisted behind his head, reminding.

“My, I didn’t know you were so eager to lose both of your arms this evening,” Ignis says, nonchalant. “You are making a variety of poor choices tonight, my dove.”

He's never heard any type of endearment leave Ignis’s mouth in the ten years he’s known him. The words are like silk, smooth, but the underlying threat is unmistakable.

“P-Please, man! I ain’t -- I mean, I didn’t mean it! Let me go, _please_!” It’s like the sparring match gone wrong all over again, except this time it’s Ignis who’s doing the hurting. The man is still sobbing gibberish, though he sounds remarkably more sober than he did a minute ago. Pain does that to a person.

Ignis remains unsympathetic, dropping the broken arm in favor of cupping the man’s cheeks, gloved fingers digging in harshly, “Hush, now. You’ve done enough talking tonight.” He lifts his head to look at Noctis, glasses gleaming an unnatural orange under the neon lights and the bruise on his jaw an ugly, mottled brown. “Shall I dispose of him, Your Highness?”

“No,” Noctis says. He sounds curiously calm, despite witnessing his childhood friend detain and break a man’s arm with no hesitation. He sounds like this isn’t the first time he’s seen this. He sounds like this may be somewhat of a regular occurrence.

Gladio remains silent.

“Very well,” Ignis replies agreeably, letting go of the man’s face with a sharp twist. “What would you have me do with him, then?” The civilian weeps at Ignis's feet, and the advisor shushes him softly, "Quiet, darling. It's rude to interrupt."

The man peters off into muffled sniffling, eyes scrunched shut and snot dribbling down his chin.

Noctis dusts off some imaginary lint on his v-neck. “Let him go. Maybe he’ll think twice before picking fights with people on the streets.”

“As you wish.” Ignis releases the man’s arm and steps back neatly. He returns to Noctis’s side a moment later, observing the flecks of blood and dirt on his gloves with open distaste. He addresses the man whimpering at their feet, “Be a dear and dispose of that bottle on your way out, would you?”

The man snatches the bottle up and clumsily clambers to his feet, broken arm hanging listlessly at his side. When he hesitates, Ignis gently urges him, “Go on, then. Off with you.”

Once the drunk is out of sight do they turn their attention to Gladio. He’s rooted to the spot, blood dripping onto the sidewalk from the gash on his face. He doesn’t even feel it.

“Oh, _shit_. Gladio, that looks bad. We gotta get you back to the Citadel,” Noctis says, the eerie calmness from before replaced by this awkward hovering he’s doing, hands not knowing where to touch. “Specs, call a cab. And pay them extra to make it double-time.”

Gladio stands there, dazed, as Noctis flits around him while Ignis waves down a taxi. He obediently climbs into the cramped back seat of the cab when prompted and accepts the beat up bag of their take-out when it’s handed to him. The wet towel pressed into his hand is accepted without question, and when he peers into the rear view mirror, the taxi driver is looking straight ahead with a nervous determination.

It’s only when they’re halfway to the Citadel, car ride tensely silent, that he says, with feeling, “What the actual _fuck_ just happened?”

* * *

“Good news is you won’t need stitches. Bad news: it’ll leave one hell of a scar.” The doctor on duty cleans up her area, studiously disposing of the bloodied gauze and cotton balls into the trash bin. “Try not to itch it, if you can. Come see me tomorrow so I can change out the bandages.”

She shuts her medical kit with a final ‘click’ and leaves without any further fanfare. It’s late -- she probably has better things to do than to tend to a teenager who had gotten his face smashed in with a beer bottle.

Noctis had left the room, volunteering to go find some silverware for their probably now cold take-out. Gladio and Ignis let him go. They know the prince isn’t fond of doctors, medical or otherwise.

“So, you like a hitman or somethin’?” Gladio asks without preamble. He rubs the bandage over his eye only to have Ignis slap his fingers away, reprimanding. “You handled that situation very... well, you handled it. Noct didn’t seem too concerned either.” Ignis opens his mouth and Gladio cuts him off with a terse, “And tell the truth, would ya, Iggy? I think I’m owed that much.”

Ignis closes his mouth and stares at him instead, green eyes thoughtful.

“I am not, as you call, a ‘hitman’, per se. I simply do what must be done, no matter the cost,” Ignis explains simply, like this whole situation is _simple_. Gladio wants to laugh.

“What does that mean, though?” Gladio asks because he feels like that is the important part here. “If Noct’s in danger, do you go and... take care of them? If someone says something Noctis doesn’t like, do you go beat them up, too?”

“Yes, and no.” Ignis takes off his glasses and wipes them with the ends of his shirt. His gloves are off, sitting innocently on the table beside Gladio. The reason for those gloves existing, Gladio doesn't want to think about right now. “I suppose you can view what I do as a type of ‘insurance’ for the Crown. I make sure things get done, and that those who doubt the validity of the Crown’s word are corrected accordingly.” Ignis places his glasses back on, adjusting them with careful fingers. “Protecting Noctis with those skills is merely a perk. If I were to be ambushed by a more than two at a time, I daresay I’d be a tad overwhelmed.”

Maybe he senses Gladio’s existential crisis and that’s why he says what he does. Either way, it makes Gladio feel marginally better. He knows he can take on six guys at once with no problem. Ignis’s newfound skills aren’t _completely_ encroaching on Gladio’s own duty to protect the prince, which is a small comfort.

“That explains a lot,” Gladio says as he leans back against the stiff leather. “Well, good to know I got an assassin on my side helping me protect his royal pain in the ass. Helps me sleep better at night.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Ignis says, nettled. The corner of his lips are quirked up though, so he can’t be as irritated as he’s pretending to be. “As I said, I’m merely the Crown’s --”

“--insurance. Yeah, yeah. I got it, Iggy. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Gladio fiddles with one of Ignis’s gloves, taking in the way it's tailored to custom fit Ignis’s hands. The fabric is flexible and not too thick, perfect for proficient finger work and not leaving behind fingerprints.

Gladio sets the glove down.

“So where’d you learn those fancy moves, huh? And don’t tell me you learned from a book because I _will_ call bullshit, don’t think I won’t. Did you learn from someone here --”

Ignis puts a hand up, “I’m going to stop you there and ask _you_ a question. Do you really want to know who’s taught me my trade? I ask that you consider this carefully. Do you _really_ want to know?” Gladio very nearly chokes on his tongue at the implication. When he remains reticent, Ignis hums his approval, “Glad we’ve got that sorted.”

“I do have another question, though,” Gladio says, eager to get away from this conversation altogether. He doesn’t wait for Ignis’s go-ahead before plowing on, “What’s up with you and the kid?”

“Pardon?” It’s a nice change of pace, surprising Ignis for once.

“I’ll be honest, I suspected for awhile now, but seeing you two today...” Gladio trails off, letting Ignis fill in the blanks. “Spill. What’s going on?”

“Nothing is --,” Ignis stops and clears his throat, continuing more firmly, “Nothing is ‘going on’. I don’t know what you presume you saw, but I assure you it isn’t what you’re thinking. In addition to being incredibly inappropriate, His Highness is quite enamored with Lady Lunafreya. His happiness is my priority, nothing more, nothing less.”

Gladio makes the executive decision not to point out how defensive his whole spiel just now sounds; he also decides not to mention that while he mentions Noctis’s feelings, Ignis neglects to mention his own.

It’s been a long day, so Gladio backs down, though he really doesn’t want to. He’s going to have to win a lot of arguments in the future to make up for the inordinate amount he’s lost today.

“Well, whatever is or isn’t happening, I’m here for you guys.” Gladio tries to recall Ignis’s words to him that morning. “If you ever change your mind about your not-feelings, know that I support your endeavors wholeheartedly.”

“Stop talking now, please,” Ignis says, rubbing his temples and very pointedly looking everywhere but at Gladio. There’s a light blush staining the bridge of his nose and Gladio grins. Busted.

The silence is nice -- Gladio to reflect on the day while Ignis is probably trying to forget it even happened. The move Ignis had done to make the drunken man drop the broken bottle keeps replaying in Gladio’s mind.

“Hey, Iggy?”

“Yes, Gladio?”

“Show me that wrist trick sometime, would ya?”

A slow smile spreads across Ignis’s lips, sly and pleased.

“Certainly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!
> 
> See you next time.


	3. Noctis - Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to forget that Ignis is a selfish human being too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something where a story is told from dialogue and this is what was born!
> 
> There is so much I want to expand on this, but I felt like it would take away from the chapter. I may write a separate oneshot for their first kiss -- we'll see ;)

They strike when Ignis takes his leave.

“So, Noct,” Iris says, “Who kissed who?”

Noctis pauses the game with deliberate slowness and glances between Iris and Prompto with mounting dread. Prompto feigns innocence, blue eyes wide and hands twined behind his head in a casual slouch -- too casual, Noctis realizes with narrow eyes.

Iris doesn’t try to hide it. She’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, vibrating and practically crawling over Prompto in her excitement. Noctis wonders, not for the first time, if he needs to reevaluate his friendships. 

“Oh, come on!” Iris bounces in place and nearly sends Prompto flying. “You can’t tell me you two haven’t kissed yet. You’ve been dating for almost a month now. Back me up, Prompto!”

Prompto stutters, shriveling up like a dry ulwaat berry under Noctis’s gaze. “I mean, well, you two have been dating for awhile, right? It’s -- it’s only the next logical step?”

Noctis crosses his arms over himself defensively, “Why are you two so invested in my romantic life all of the sudden?” 

Despite his friends’ best intentions, Noctis can’t help but feel a little crowded by the sudden attention. To have reporters nitpick into every aspect of his life is one thing, but to have his friends do the same so suddenly is a bit disconcerting. 

“Noct. Can’t your two best friends have a healthy interest in your wellbeing?” Iris says just as Prompto blurts out, “We had a bet about who kissed who first!”

Ah. That sounds more likely. Noctis uncrosses his arms and lets himself relax, “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” He pauses, “Ignis kissed me first.”

“Yes!” Iris pumps her fists while Prompto groans into one of the couch pillows. 

“Really? Ignis kissed you first?” Prompto says, voice muffled into the fabric. “But he’s so...”, he waves his hand around in an approximation of what Ignis supposedly is before letting his hand flop back down. “I really thought it would be you making the first move, buddy.”

He keeps the pillow over his face and leans back into the couch cushions, defeated. Noctis balances his controller on the very center of the pillow and leaves it there.

“And I told you that Iggy is way more adventurous than you give him credit for,” Iris says, flicking Prompto on the shoulder. “Okay, but enough about that. Tell us how it happened! Was it super romantic? Did he kiss you under the night sky? Were there flowers?”

“Uh,” Noctis says intelligently. “No? Maybe? It was, um, at night, yeah. No flowers though.”

“Wow,” Prompto says. “A really exciting story there, Noct. Tell it again.”

Noctis scowls, the effect lost since Prompto can’t see it. He contemplates if smothering his best friend would reflect poorly upon his future reign. Ignis would probably think so. 

“There was tongue,” Noctis says loudly, floundering a little as he tries to conjure more details of that night. “And, uh, he pulled my hair.”

Iris squeals just as Prompto bolts up with an appalled, “ _ What _ .” The controller and pillow clatter to the floor, but it goes ignored.

“Details, details!” Iris chants. Prompto gapes at him. 

Noctis can feel the tip of his ears go hot so he makes a mad grab for the discarded pillow by Prompto’s feet, holding it over his head while he buries his face between his knees. How did this happen? They were supposed to be playing video games, not giving him the third degree about his relationship with Ignis.

“It’s -- it’s really not that exciting,” Noctis says because, honestly? The story isn’t really great as far as first kisses go. “Ignis took me out to go see the stars, he brought some booze, we got into an argument, then he kissed me. That’s it.”

“You two got into an argument before your first kiss?” Iris says, heartbroken. “That’s awful, Noct. I’m so sorry.” 

“What were you guys arguing about?” Prompto asks, curious. “Er, if you’re cool with sharing. You don’t have to if it’s still a sore spot.”

Noctis peeks at them from under his pillow, “No, it’s cool, man. We talked it out after.” He sits up and places the pillow on his lap. “I was mad at him for being so selfless all the time. I know that sounds really dumb, but I guess I’d just realized how selfish  _ I  _ was being that I wanted him to be the selfish one for once.” Noctis winces at the memory. Shiva, he’d really been awful. “I was a little tipsy and said some mean things to get a rise out of him.”

“Did you?” Prompto says. “Get a rise out of him, I mean.”

“Not at first,” Noctis admits. “Ignis knew I was going through a tough time, which is why he took me out to go see the stars, ironically enough. I repaid him by being a complete asshole to him. Anyway, he tried to reason with me first, but when that didn’t work he just stayed quiet and let me yell at him. That only made me more mad, though. I -- I said some really awful things to him.”

“Then he kissed you?” Iris asks, clearly baffled at the chain of events leading up to this kiss. Noctis can’t blame her. He was there, and he still has trouble believing it happened.

“I goaded him into it. Told him to do something selfish for a change. I...may have gotten into his face a bit.” Noctis wants to hide under the pillow again, but forces himself not to. He deserves their judgment. “He finally snapped and kissed me. There was a lot of teeth.”

A lot of teeth is an understatement. Noctis’s lips had been bruised and swollen for  _ days _ . He had to tell Gladio that he’d tripped and busted his lip on a doorknob for his Shield to believe that he hadn’t been mugged on the streets. Of course, Ignis had come out completely unscathed, lips smooth and unchapped and completely perfect. The Gods apparently favored Ignis.

“Wow,” Iris says, awed. “Go, Iggy!”

“You guys are good now, right? You said you’ve talked it out since then,” Prompto says as he wrings his hands together. Fondness for his best friend washes over Noctis and he can’t help but to smile softly. Leave it to Prompto to worry about his friends. 

Noctis nods, “Yeah, we’re good. Thanks, Prompto.”

“Good,” Prompto says, relieved. “Because I’ll beat him up if I have to! I’ve been working on my upper body strength. I bet I could take him.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Noctis laughs and Iris giggles from her side of the couch.

Iris says, “Iggy hides it well under his dress shirts, but he’s pretty ripped. He could probably beat you up in ten seconds flat. Even Gladdy has a hard time keeping up with him in training nowadays.”

“I could take him!” Prompto insists, indignant. He puffs his chest out and throws his shoulder back -- he looks like a ruffled chocobo, which only serves to make Noctis laugh harder. 

“Wait, wait,” Noctis says, trying to get his wheezing laughs under control. “How do you know Ignis is ripped, Iris? Quit checking out my boyfriend.”

“As if!” Iris grabs the pillow on her end of the couch and crawls over Prompto to smack Noctis with it. “It’s kinda hard not to notice when him and Gladdy spar in my backyard.”

Prompto wrenches Noctis’s own pillow from his grasp and proceeds to hit him with it too. “And how dare you for not having faith in your best friend. See if I ever protect your sorry butt from your fanclub again.” 

Noctis is laughing too hard to actively fight against the slew of pillows thrown his way. Death by pillows. Not the worst way to go. 

 


	4. Iris - Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small talk sparks big ideas, which leads to surprising discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me forever and a day, and I'll probably find a million things wrong with it in the morning, but here it is. I've been really excited for this one, so I hope you guys like it. Next up: Ignis's POV! Exciting.

Iris is the first to find out because she’s ultimately the one who plants the idea in his head.

“It’s a coming of age tradition,” she explains to an attentive Ignis. “The ink symbolizes our accomplishments, as well as our hopes and dreams. We take great pride in them.”

They’re sitting at a local coffee shop a few blocks from the Citadel. The inscripted brass rails and embroidered tablecloth are a little too high end for Iris’s taste, but it’s a short distance to the Citadel if either of them are needed back at a short notice. She has to admit that the warm lights scattered throughout are nice, so much different from the harsh fluorescent ones in the Citadel.

Ignis sits across from her, gloved fingers tracing idle patterns along the beige ceramic of his coffee cup. Steam curls between them, pleasantly enticing. A plate of warm croissants sits in front of Ignis, seemingly forgotten as the future advisor gazes off, thoughtful.

Iris leans over the booth and flicks him on the nose.

Ignis startles, green eyes wide behind his glasses. If he were any other person, he’d probably be gaping at her right now.

“I can hear you thinking from over here, Ignis. What’s up?” She settles back onto her side of the table, but not before absconding with one of Ignis’s croissants, the pastry flaking against her fingertips. It practically melts in her mouth when she takes a bite, a burst of sweetness hitting her tongue followed by a buttery aftertaste. Ignis always knows what to pick. Iris stares at her own plate of cookies forlornly.

“I was merely pondering the merits of having such a design on one’s body. Considerable thought must be put into them, I imagine,” Ignis says smoothly, sipping his coffee.

Iris laughs, “Well, yeah. It’s going to be on your body forever. You don’t want to regret it, that’s for sure.”

“Certainly,” Ignis agrees, lips quirking into an amused smile when Iris nibbles at her cookie dejectedly. He sets his coffee down, calmly pushing his plate of croissants over to her while simultaneously pulling the plate of mediocre cookies to himself. “I’m sure Gladio has put much thought into his piece. I look forward to seeing the finished product.”

“It’s all he’s talked about for the past _forever_. I will personally smack him across the head if he gets something dumb.” She pauses, glancing between the cookies and Ignis nervously. “Um, you don’t have to eat those. We can give it to some of the guards on our way back or something.”

Ignis leans over and says conspiratally, “Better yet, these will make a handsome gift for your brother after his session today. How fortunate Gladio is to have such a doting sister.”

Iris absolutely cackles, not caring of the stares she garners from the other patrons. “You are so _evil_ , Ignis. Let’s do it.”

* * *

 

They don’t cross paths again for a couple months.

Between Ignis’s tight schedule and Iris’s own duties, they just can’t find a moment to catch up. It’s unfair, really.

 _Maybe it’s for the best_ , Iris muses as she walks through the wide, sweeping halls of the Citadel. Rumors of her and Ignis are swirling around the Citadel again. It doesn’t bother Iris as much as it used to, but she can’t deny that it’s a little insulting when she can see noblemen and women blatantly sizing her up when she passes by. She finds little comfort in knowing Ignis is suffering the same scrutiny.

“Hey, Iris!”

Iris turns, eyes widening when she catches Noctis, of all people, jogging towards her. He’s in formal clothes, black dress shoes tapping a muffed rhythm against the carpeted halls. She meets him halfway, gathering him into a swift hug when he’s within reaching distance.

“Noct! It’s good to see you!” Iris squeezes him tight for a moment, the gel in his hair tickling her face as she pulls away. Noctis smiles down at her, a light blush dusting his pale cheeks. Cute.

“It’s good to see you, too,” he says easily. “How have you been?”

Iris taps her chin thoughtfully, humming. “I’d be better without these silly rumors running around,” she admits. “But that’s not important. Did you need something?”

“Er, yeah.” Noctis rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing away. “Have you seen Specs?”

Iris blinks, baffled. “Ignis? No, I can’t say I have. Why?”

She watches, fascinated, as Noctis shrinks into the pressed collar of his black suit, expression guilty. He mutters something unintelligible and Iris leans closer.

“What was that?” She asks and Noctis shoots her a flustered look. Interest piqued, Iris pokes his side, grinning when Noctis stifles an indignant sound and shies away from the touch. “Noooctis. Come on! We’re friends. You can tell me anything.”

Noctis frowns, glancing around apprehensively. “Not here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

 _Somewhere without nosy nobles_ is what Iris deciphers, so she follows without question. He leads her to an empty meeting room, one that looks recently used if the pulled out chairs and warm water glasses by the edge of the great table are anything to go by. It could explain why Noctis is in a suit today.

“Okay,” Iris says as she spins to face the reticent prince. “What’s going on? Why are you looking for Ignis?”

“He won’t answer his phone,” Noctis says, shoulders sagging dejectedly. “I’ve tried texting and calling. It's not like him to not answer my calls.”

“Hmm. You’re right, that doesn’t sound like Ignis at all.” Iris taps the bottom of her lip, thinking. Ignis isn’t the type to ignore texts or phone calls, especially where it concerns Noctis. “Why don’t we split up? You keep looking in the Citadel and I’ll take a look around the city?”

Noctis makes a startled sound. “That’s a lot of ground to cover. Are you sure?”

“It’s no problem. He has a few haunts that I can check out. Leave it to me!” Iris says, saluting him like one of the Crownsguard. “Iris Amicitia is on the case!”

Noctis nods solemnly, eyes betraying his obvious mirth when he says mock-seriously, “I’ll be counting on you.”

He salutes her back and Iris can’t help the giggle that escapes. It feels like the old times when they used to pretend they were investigators, trying to solve the many mysteries of the Citadel and fighting off make-believe monsters. Sometimes they’d manage to rope Gladio or Ignis into their shenanigans, though those moments were far and few between.

She misses those days.

“We’ll rendezvous in two hours. Report any suspicious findings immediately. Dismissed,” Noctis says and Iris parts with a quick hug.

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” she says before they go their separate ways.

Two hours. Whoever finds Ignis first in those two hours will win. Maybe it’s a little childish that Iris wants to win so much, but she hasn’t had this much fun in ages.

First order of business: call Ignis.

It goes straight to voicemail. Iris frowns as she makes her way out of the Citadel, nodding distractedly at the guards posted by the exit. It’s not like Ignis to have his phone off, especially for so long. She hopes he’s okay.  
  
She pauses, an idea suddenly occurring to her. Iris spins around to face the two guards. “Hey, you two wouldn’t happen to know if Ignis passed by recently, would you?”

The two guards glance at each other, and one shifts a little.

“Count Scientia passed through a few hours ago,” the dark haired guard tells her, and Iris nods.

“Did he say anything else?” She asks, aiming to keep her voice light and aloof. No need to add to the rumor mill today. “Like, where he may be heading off to? Prince Noctis is concerned, you see.”

It never hurts to throw in Noct’s name. Sure enough, the taller guard, the one who’d been shifting on his feet restlessly, blurts out, “He said he had an appointment and that he’d be back in a couple hours.”

“Interesting,” Iris murmurs. “Would you happen to know what appointment he’s talking about?”

They shake their head in unison and Iris sighs, a little disappointed. Her only lead -- a dead end. At least she knows he’s not in the Citadel. She can work with this.

“He did go in that direction, Lady Iris, if that is of any help,” the tall one says, pointing toward the direction of the little cafe her and Ignis usually frequent.

Maybe the cafe then? She smiles at the two guards. “That was incredibly helpful. Thank you, you two. Keep working hard, okay?”

They nod eagerly, seemingly pleased at the praise; they bow as she takes her leave, and Iris doesn’t think she imagines the excited whispers between them when they think she’s out of hearing distance.

The cafe is unusually busy when Iris arrives. When she peeks her head in, the line to the counter extends almost out the door and all the tables and booths are completely filled. She spots a few nobles sporting the Lucian crest, but no sign of Ignis.

Iris is contemplating waiting in line and asking the baristas if they’d seen him when a familiar voice says behind her, “Iris?”

“Gladdy?” Sure enough, Gladio stands behind her, along with a few of his teammates. Iris recognizes a couple of them and greets them pleasantly before turning her attention back to her brother. “What are you doing here? I thought you don’t like cafes.”

Gladio tended to avoid cramped, crowded places, his bulk making it difficult to navigate through tables and people.

“I don’t,” Gladio assures her. “Ignis said we should try their coffee after training today, so here we are.”

She peers around the group hopefully. “Is Ignis with you?”

Gladio shakes his head and Iris almost lets herself succumb to another round of disappointment when Gladio says, “No, but he said he’d meet us after his appointment. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“So he’s meeting you here?” Iris asks; then, because she _has_ to know, “And did he say what kind of appointment he’s going to? Is he sick?”

“Why the third degree?” Gladio says, suspicious. “But your guess is as good as mine. Didn’t seem sick when he told us, though.”

The others murmur their collective agreement and Iris relaxes a little, satisfied in the knowledge that Ignis isn’t hiding some sort of deathly illness from them.

“Noct’s been asking for him,” Iris says by way of explanation. “Iggy turned his phone off and Noct hasn’t been able to get ahold of him.”

Gladio’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised. “Iggy not answering the kid’s calls? That’s not like him.”

“That what _I_ said,” Iris says even as Gladio takes his phone out and presumably dials Ignis’s number before pressing it close to his ear.

He pulls it away a second later, frowning. ”Voicemail.”

“Yeah, I tried that already, genius,” Iris says, ducking under the arm that tries pull her in a headlock.

“Don’t be a brat,” Gladio grumbles, sticking his phone back in his pocket. “C’mon. I’ll grab you something while we wait.”

Iris goes without complaint, never one to turn down free food. The line is still long, but it goes by faster in good company, Gladdy’s friends quick to include her in their conversations. When they get to the register, Iris orders a simple latte with some croissants while Gladio gets a large black coffee. Iris shoots off a brief text to Noctis to let him know about her lead.

“Hey,” he says as they pass by the display case to grab Iris’s croissants and their coffees. “Aren’t those the awful cookies you brought me a long time ago?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” They manage to snag a table by the window, next to the booth that her and Ignis usually share. Everyone squeezes in, though they’re forced to steal a couple chairs from the adjacent tables for everyone to fit. “You should go buy one to double-check.”

Gladio narrows his eyes at her, “How about you give me one of your croissants instead?”

“How about you get your own? These are mine,” Iris says, clutching her small bag of croissants protectively. They’re freshly baked, and she can feel how warm they are even through the paper bag.

Gladio makes a swipe for them, but Iris keeps them tucked in her arms.

“I paid for them, so technically they’re not yours.” Gladio attempts to reach across to snatch them again, but Iris is faster and holds them away from him.

She sticks her tongue out, “You gave them to me, so they’re mine.”

“You’re going to eat all those by yourself?” Gladio asks dubiously. “Don’t be stupid. Give me one.”

“No! I’m saving some for Iggy, too!” She squeals when Gladio goes to grab the bag, nearly dropping it until another pair of hands catch them, saving them from a sad demise on the cafe floor.

“Saving what for me, exactly?” Ignis asks, nodding his thanks when one of Gladio’s friends pulls up a chair for him. He sits down gracefully, setting the bag in question in front of himself and out of their reach.

“Iggy!” Iris flies out of her chair, bounding over to give him a brief hug. He tenses under her touch and Iris lets go hastily, eyes wide, “Sorry, did I hurt you? I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

Ignis has never complained about her hugs before. She must have hugged him too tight this time.

“You just caught me unawares, is all,” he tells her, shooting her a disarming smile.

Years of friendship has honed Iris’s internal lie detector like a finely tuned instrument -- she knows Ignis isn’t being entirely truthful. Normally, she’d let it slide. Ignis has his secrets, and Iris has hers. Just because they’re friends doesn’t mean they have to share everything with each other.

But -- “Noct’s beside himself looking for you. Have you talked to him recently?”

The smile slides off Ignis’s face, expression stricken. “I -- no, I can’t say I have. How long has he been asking for me?”

Iris checks the time on her phone. “Maybe a couple hours? I only started looking for you an hour ago.”

Ignis already has his own phone in hand before Iris even finishes, thumb tapping rapidly along the screen, no doubt texting the prince as they speak. Iris watches as he hesitates, thumb hovering over the screen as he has some sort of internal debate with himself.

Gladio strikes in their brief moment of distraction.

He’s already got the bag open and a hand around one of the croissants by the time Iris has a mind to slap his hands away. “Gladdy! I said those were for Ignis!”

“There’s still some in there,” Gladio says and takes a bite out of his stolen pastry before Iris can snatch that back too. He makes a surprised sound, mouth still full. “Hey, these are really fucking good.”

“That’s why I got them, dummy.” Iris closes the bag and deliberately sets it by Ignis again. He’s still preoccupied with his phone, so Iris makes the executive decision to sit between him and Gladio so her brother won’t try his hand at stealing again.

“The kid’s fine, Iggy,” Gladio says when Ignis remains engrossed to the screen, light reflecting off his glasses and hiding his eyes. “He probably ain’t even mad anymore as long as you’re okay.”

A quiet ‘ping’ follows Gladio’s statement and the three of them glance down at Ignis’s phone. Iris glimpses a “ glad ur ok :) “ from Noctis and hides her smile behind her drink. Ignis clears his throat and returns his phone back to his breast pocket after tapping out a swift reply.  

“Apologies. I’ve been terribly rude since I’ve arrived.” He unrolls the top of the paper bag and lifts one of the croissants out, slightly smushed from her and Gladio’s roughhousing earlier. Ignis pays no mind and takes a small bite, humming appreciatively as he chews. “These are delightful. Thank you, Iris. Gladio.”

“Sure,” Gladio says easily, washing his own down with a long swig of black coffee. He turns back to his teammates, drawn into a heated debate about long ranged weapons versus short ranged ones.

“So,” Iris says conversationally after Ignis polishes off the last of the croissant, “What have you been up to today? Must be something important if you turned your phone off.”

Ignis adjusts his glasses. “Merely seeing to a private affair. Nothing to concern yourself over.”

Which is Ignis speak for: stay out of my business.

Naturally, Iris does the opposite.

“We were worried about you, nothing to get defensive about,” she says, placating.

And, because she wants to make sure he knows it's not serious, Iris punches his arm good-naturedly.

Ignis winces. It's so subtle, she would have missed it if she hadn’t been sitting directly next to him. He catches himself a moment later, eyes sliding over to Iris with a calculated wariness. Caught.

Experimentally, Iris lifts her hand, index finger extended to poke at his bicep again. This time, Ignis visibly shifts away, angling his arm away from her questing finger with poorly disguised desperation. There’s only so far he can escape, however, cornered between one of Gladio’s teammates and Iris’s determination.

She jabs her finger into the meat of his upper arm, digs it in to prove something. A tight-lipped hiss escapes Ignis, and this time, he yanks his arm away, cradling his bicep protectively.

They stare at each other, an impromptu standoff that neither is willing to back down from.

“Ignis,” Iris starts, but Ignis cuts her off with a brisk, “Later.”

“But—“ she tries again but Ignis shoots her such a beseeching look that her mouth closes of her own accord.

“Not here,” he says, green eyes darting around Gladio’s teammates, landing on Gladio himself for a prolonged moment, before flitting back to Iris.

Something private, then. And something he definitely doesn’t want her big brother to know about.

“We should be going,” Iris says to no one in particular, just loud enough to carry across the table. “Noct wants in on these croissants. Can’t let them get cold.”

Gladio twists around in his chair, frowning. “Wait. So Noct can have some, but I can’t? That doesn’t make any damn sense.”

“Yeah, because he’s the prince. Duh,” Iris says as she stands up, coffee in hand. Ignis stands as well, all fluid grace and long limbs.

“Can’t keep the prince waiting,” Ignis agrees lightly, gathering his coffee and the paper bag with deft fingers. “We’ll be off, then.”

Gladio barely gets out a “see ya” before they’re beating a hasty exit, Iris hot on Ignis’s heels. He leads her back toward the Citadel, but makes a detour into one of the lesser-known entrances, tucked away and only accessible by council members and royalty.

Luckily for them, Ignis is a council member and Iris is technically from the branch family of the Royal line, so they get in hassle-free. Ignis ushers her into one of the smaller meeting rooms and Iris feels a sense of deja-vu wash over her.

Once the door shuts behind her, Iris is immediately in Ignis’s space. “Okay, enough with the sneaking around. What’s wrong with your arm?”

“I guess I can’t hide it from you, then,” Ignis says, disgruntled. He places his coffee and croissants on the edge of the meeting table. Iris does the same. “Scarcely an hour. I must be getting lax.”

Then, to Iris’s immense confusion, Ignis begins unbuttoning his dress shirt with nimble fingers. Iris’s face goes hot and she quickly zeroes in on one of the paintings littering the walls of the room.

“What – uh. What are you doing there, Ignis?” She asks, voice cracking a little. By the Six, her voice sounds like Gladio’s when he was going through puberty.

“Showing you,” Ignis says, apparently unaffected by his continued nakedness. Once his shirt is sufficiently unbuttoned, he pulls his left arm from the sleeve, leaving the other half to dangle from his right shoulder.

Iris doesn’t take it in right away, too flustered with the sudden turn of events. She’s been around her share of half-naked men; Shiva, her brother and his teammates act like they don’t even know what a shirt _is_ , much less be bothered to wear it. Still, she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself when her close childhood friend decides to strip in the middle of an abandoned meeting room.

Then, she sees it.

Black ink weaves around Ignis’s bicep like an intricate coil of black, blue, and purple, twirling and twisting in a complex pattern. There’s a design hidden within, a sort of symbolism that Iris isn’t privy to. A moon and sun overlap in the landscape of a night sky, nearly hidden under the elaborate, thick lines of a bigger design.

It’s bold. It’s puzzling. It’s _amazing_.

“Ignis,” she breathes, eyes glued to his arm.  “It – it’s incredible.”

Iris hadn’t realized she’d been inching closer until she’s a couple feet away from him, fingers reaching out to touch. She glances up, grinning a little sheepishly. “May I?”

Ignis nods, and Iris traces her fingers along the white reflection of the stars. This close, she can see the redness around the ink, a testament to how recently he got it done.

Her eyes follow along with her fingertips. It’s with a start that she realizes a few things in quick succession: One, Ignis did not get this in the spur of the moment; the lines are too deliberate to be a passing fancy. Besides, Ignis would never do anything like this spontaneously. He’d thought about this long and hard.

Second, the design she thought was a sun is actually a blazing fire, shaped in a way to resemble something like a sun – a dying star, maybe? Which makes the appearance of the moon and the stars surrounding it a little confusing. A ring of fire engulfed in the night sky…

“It took longer than I anticipated,” Ignis says when the silence stretches on. “But I do believe the end result more than makes up for it.”

“Yeah,” Iris says, dazed. “What a piece. Why didn’t you want Gladdy to see it? He’d love it.”

Ignis adjusts his glasses with his free hand. “Gladio finally finished his own piece but a week ago. He’s quite proud of it, and rightfully so. I have no wish to steal that spotlight from him.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Iggy,” Iris says, touched by the kindness he’s shown to her unwitting brother.

Despite all of Gladio’s peacocking, she knows the piece means a lot to him; the symbol of their house, proudly on display. It was a big moment for him.

Inexplicably, her eyes are drawn toward the fiery circle again, and she asks, “What does it stand for? Your piece.”

“Devotion, I suppose. Loyalty.” Ignis stares down at his arm, expression soft, a smile curling the ends of his lips. “To the cause, and to everything beyond.”

All at once, Iris understands.

She feels silly for not having realized it sooner, the answer so obviously staring her in the face, and Ignis’s explanation cementing it. Her finger grazes along the fire within the night sky with a newfound understanding.

Love. For his kingdom, for his prince, for Noct.

It’s a testament to the kind of day Iris is having that this is how one of the Crowsnguard finds them; Ignis with his shirt undone and disheveled with Iris tracing his arm reverently. It would have been comical in any other circumstance.

“Pardon the intrusion, Lady Iris. Count Scientia,” the Crownsguard stutters, glancing between the two. “I’ll just ... be going.”

“Wait, it’s not what you -- “ the door slams shut, along with Iris’s desperate attempt at an explanation. The echoing silence is deafening in the empty room.

“Splendid,” Ignis says. “It seems we have another salacious tale to add to our ever growing repertoire.”

Iris groans, and silently agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this one is slightly pushing canon since in Iggy's Crownsguard uniform without the jacket, his sleeve comes up a quarter of the way through; if he were to have a sleeve there, it would definitely show. BUT THIS IS MY HEADCANON SO LET ME HAVE THIS.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://theignisscientia.tumblr.com)!


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